MORE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL WANNABES
Once again I feel it is time to don my professorial attire to further my pursuit of my unselfish and noble quest to further the betterment of mankind in the world of literary endeavors in a manner which only I am capable of accomplishing, being inspired by the notable English Victorian novelist Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton who is responsible for that memorable opening line, so famously penned by that immortal word smithing comic strip beagle Snoopy, “It was a dark and stormy night …” WOW! That was a mouthful if I ever had one.
Several years ago in cONTEMPORARY mUSINGS I posted The Not-So-Great American Novels highlighting the history of the English Department of San José State University, California’s annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. In that posting, I offered my one sentence opening lines to bad novels. So, since I am always looking for something to fill space, I decided it was a good time to write the sequel. And so without further adieu … or is it ado? … surely not doo doo, I offer MORE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL WANNABES or as it will be called when the movie version comes out, Son of Not-So-Great American Novels.
As always, enjoy.
A HOUSE FULL OF ANIMALS
It was the mid-point of September in that year when American film directors skip bail and flee to France with thirteen year old girls, China lifts bans on works by Aristotle, serial killers are captured in Florida, western American states slash property taxes by sixty percent and comic strips about Lasagna eating cats debut, that young Kent Dorfman slipped from the dark interior of the lushly appointed limousine and embarked on an academic journey that would startlingly change his young life and he would learn beyond the shadow of a doubt that Knowledge is Good!
ROAD WEARY LONGINGS 
The glaring solar disc ever so gingerly cowered below the boundary of the azure maritime expanse set before this road weary pilgrim on this the last of the incandescent days of canine dominance causing considerable self interrogation as to why the torrid calitidy of the fiery mass did not induce a massive eruption of the hydrogen and oxygen which constitute this gleaming liquid thereby causing massive steam clouds and a raising of the matter’s temperature enabling one to experience California’s greatest friggin’ hot tub ever!
MORNING FOR MEVCZENKA
Morning came early for Mevczenka on her first day at the cannery looming high above on the gently rolling bluff overlooking the sleepy, quickly thrown together village which she and 73 other haggard refugees from the endless conflicts in the motherland and other neighboring countries called home since their desperate search for sanctuary terminated months ago when a chance meeting with the unassuming occupant of a sparkling black stretch limo offered them great job opportunities in his cat food canning company.
A STORM IN THE NIGHT
The darkness cast a dreary, dull, peculiar, peaceful pall across the calm city lighted only by the occasional luminous lunar rays stealthily, silently peering through the densely distributed clustered clouds hovering high above the massive metropolis she so dearly loved, the only home she had ever known as water lapped lightly against aging aluminum eaves and occasional muffled, muted screams for help could be heard in the dark distance when she saw three men gliding, purposely paddling a punt just yards away singing “Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub!”
THE CORNER OF LIGHTED MEMORIES
Forty some odd years had elapsed since the four siblings had gathered anywhere near the old place to recall any of their shattered childhood experiences or to recall anything of value for that matter for
their lives had taken very different and distinct routes out of this modern-day Gehenna for reasons known only to them, whether it was Bobby’s ill-conceived long-standing pairing with Janis, Carole’s failure to finish her post inquisition tapestry restoration, Theodore’s wild spirit, or Alice’s misdirected attention to her job at her ramshackle restaurant, the music had long faded like a Bohemian Rhapsody being catapulted to the far reaches of Mercury.
EPITAPH
Well, there you have it. Once again I feel have contributed to the betterment of all mankind. It’s a tough job, but, as they say, somebody’s gotta do it!
Jay
NOTE: NO REAL AUTHORS, DEAD OR ALIVE, WERE HURT IN THE WRITING OF THIS BLOG.
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